


The Game is Afoot

by NekoMida



Category: Sherlock Holmes (Downey films)
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1950s, Alternate Universe - Hollywood, Black Dahlia Murder, Gen, Golden Age Detective, Golden Age Hollywood, Historical References, Murder Mystery, Vacation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-03
Updated: 2020-09-03
Packaged: 2021-03-06 14:14:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26260210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NekoMida/pseuds/NekoMida
Summary: Sherlock Holmes doesn't know how to take a vacation.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes & John Watson
Comments: 2
Kudos: 9
Collections: Alternate Universe Exchange 2020





	The Game is Afoot

**Author's Note:**

> I did take a few historical liberties here, but I hope that's okay.
> 
> -WW2 ended in 1945  
> -The original "Black Dahlia" murder took place in 1947  
> -Airplane travel was expensive in the 50's but readily available!

Going away from London had never been something that John Watson had thought of. Neither had Sherlock Holmes, for that matter, though here they were, in sunny California. And a holiday was needed, simply because Sherlock was getting entirely too comfortable consuming the ever-expanding world of anesthetics--John had found him drinking a bottle of particularly bitter substrate used for eye surgeries. That had been the last straw, and even Mary had insisted that they go on holiday, noting how the two seemed to be bickering more than usual.

Sherlock, of course, insisted on steam travel, first by boat and then by train; his trust in any sort of aeronautics was shaky at best, and when examining the cost, he had scoffed. Even if they had numerous pounds in their coffers, he was still a cheapskate through and through. “Waste no, want not, Watson.”

Hardly a moment passed before rising palm trees and sunbathed streets came before them, Sherlock absently tinkering with his violin as Watson gathered their luggage. He had to lay down some ground rules, and that included how they had to present themselves.

“Holmes, we’re foreigners here. You must abstain, you hear me? We’re barely out of a war and the Americans are a breed of their own. They will take even less kindly to your antics than Scotland Yard does.”

“Of course, Watson. When in Rome, do as the Romans do.” Sherlock’s eyes wandered around wildly, observing every minute detail around them as Watson hailed a cab for the two. “Tis a bit smokey here, Watson.”

John sighed, before pushing a pamphlet into Sherlock’s hands. “Here’s our itinerary. Mary made sure to include things that might interest you without getting you into too much trouble.”

Flipping open the papers that John had handed him, Sherlock was unusually quiet, eyes staring out towards a gathering crowd of people.

“Don’t even think about it. We’re not here to get embroiled in one of your messes. No cases, Holmes!” 

“A look couldn’t hurt, Watson. Besides, Nanny isn’t here to stop me.” And before John could stop him, Sherlock was gone in a blur, only the edge of his coat visible. It was a fond memory that sprung to John, recalling how merely a year earlier Sherlock had conned the coat from the very designer themselves as compensation for solving a rather unsavory series of thefts.

He blended into the crowd all too well, and John gave up a moment after searching futilely, knowing that the cabbie would be waiting for them impatiently. But if he left Sherlock to his own devices, things were bound to go awry--or afoot, as it seemed to be. A strange looking man approached him, the coat entirely too large and the shoulders squared, looking much shorter than before, and John raised an eyebrow.

“Are you finished, Holmes?” John was exasperated, watching as his friend stripped of the extra layers that he’d stolen along the way--something that he personally had never quite figured out, how Holmes had yet to be caught--before he hopped into the automobile. “You’re entirely too enthusiastic about this. What did you find?”

“Ah, Watson, it is more what I didn’t find.” His eyes sparkled with mischief as he held up a single hair, black as night and looking worse for wear. “Apparently there’s been a murder most foul, according to the swarm of Americans. Horrible tragedy.”

“The only tragedy here is that it’s impeding on our holiday. Holmes, I’m begging you. At least let us eat and see a few sights before you draw us in to something like this.” Food sounded tempting, a bribe that Holmes was quick to take. 

“Dinner?”

“Miceli’s. Italian cuisine. Black-tie.”

“Seven o’clock?”

“Yes. After we’re settled in at the hotel.”

“Excellent. And then we’ll go find ourselves a crime scene.”

That was the last thing that Watson wanted to hear.

\-----

Holmes hadn’t shown up to dinner, despite them leaving together. Instead, John had ordered dinner, taken a plate to go for Holmes of his preferred meal choice (a sign they’d been together as friends for entirely too long, if John knew his order by heart), and had made to leave the restaurant when someone grabbed his arm and pulled him to the alleyway.

John prepared himself for a fight, dropping the carefully packed food to the ground, when the man pulled off his face in front of John, peeling it away before his very eyes. “Holmes?!” He sounded exasperatedly, looking over his companion. “Where were you?!”

“Investigating. I’ve found a few underground connections back to London that know us quite well and are willing to help.” The familiar gleam was back in his eye, and someone from the back shouted at them in Mandarin. Holmes shouted back, and they were left alone. “The Chinese workers here know everything. They see it all. We should have information by morning. Is that my food?”

“It was your food, before you spooked me.”

“Ah. Shame, then. Seems our victim should be seen by a doctor, if you catch my meaning.”

“You want me to break into a foreign police station to examine a body?”

“Ah, ah, ah. Not just a body. A very unique set of circumstances has led this body to have several oddities. Blood completely drained, severed at the waist, a few other gruesome details that most sensibilities should not be comfortable with. But a doctor…”

John held up his hands. “And just what is the victim’s name that I’m looking for?”

Sherlock smirked, though a bit of unease rested within his face. “Elizabeth Short. The media’s been calling her the ‘Black Dahlia’. Fascinating, no?”

There was a sinking feeling that Sherlock had got them into something far more deeper than just a distraction from their vacation. John wiped his hand over his face, sighing heavily, before gesturing to the street. “Tomorrow, then. I’ll make my way down and offer my expertise.”

“Excellent. The game is afoot, then.”

\----

The game turned out to be far deeper than just a game; leading their two week stay in Hollywood to extend to almost two months as they discovered twists and turns. There were opium dens and the underbelly of society all hidden beneath the golden gleam of the city that rose above it all; movie stars flirted with them and Holmes lapped every moment of it up like the dog he was. They couldn’t have had a better vacation, truthfully, although it had been far from relaxing.

“Don’t tell Mary anything. Not one word, Holmes.” If his fiance found out they’d not been relaxing at all she’d kill the two of them.

“As if we’re not still on vacation. At least it’s not raining here. I think we should come back.” Holmes had the newspaper in his lap, sipping at the excuse for tea that the Americans had made. “And this time we’ll bring Mary with us. I’m sure she could use some excitement, no?”

“No, Holmes. Not this kind of excitement. Besides, after you swindled the mob into hiding away a fortune, I doubt we’ll be so lucky again.” John’s lips perked into a smile, just as someone knocked on the window of the cafe. He spat out his coffee, finding himself face to face with Mary.

“I took the liberty of sending for her.” John would kill Sherlock if he didn’t kiss him first, rushing outside to talk with his fiance and explain why Sherlock had sent for her. It was probably full of tall tales and lies to make her worry; Holmes had a fondness for the woman but loved to tease.

While Watson was talking with Mary, Holmes lit his pipe, a smile growing on his face as a mysterious package landed on the edge of the table next to him. Seems that their trip was about to become even longer--a movie star embroiled within the CIA, lost funds, and much more fascinating, a diamond collection being shown at the nearby museum in Los Angeles.

The package had a kiss on it, sinfully red and smelling like Paris.

The game was afoot, indeed.


End file.
